Unexpected Customer
by Raziel12
Summary: Some matches are made in heaven - and some are made in a bar well after closing time. A conversation over a bottle of Scotch leads to some unexpected developments in Lebreau's life. Sometimes love comes when it's least expected, and sometimes it involves the strangest people. Lebreau x Jihl.


**Chapter One: After Hours**

It was well past closing time, deep into that part of night that bleeds into the morning. Lebreau leaned back against the bar and wiped the sweat off her brow. It had been another busy night. But thankfully, there hadn't been any real trouble.

Oh, she could understand the appeal of a good, old-fashioned brawl – she'd participated in her fair share of them over the years – but nowadays, she was the one who had to clean up afterwards. And she had better things to do with her time than tidy up broken glass, vomit, and blood. All of her regulars knew the rules. Anyone who started a fight was on the fast track to the kerb – face first.

But even on the good days, it took a while to clean the bar to her exacting standards. She could have hired more people to help, or asked some of the others to stay, but she enjoyed the cleaning. She was used to it. She'd spent years cleaning up after her boys – Snow, Gadot, Yuj, and Maqui – so it was simply another part of her routine now. It also helped take her mind off the fact that they weren't her boys anymore. Snow had moved in with Serah, and Yuj and Maqui had finally got their own place. The only one still around was Gadot, but he'd always been tidier than the others.

The bar was her baby now, and taking care of it helped set her mind at ease. Sunrise was still a few hours away, so she had plenty of time to finish up before she went to bed and slept the day away. No wonder her friends had taken to calling her a night owl. She slept when the bar was closed and woke up when it was open. But not everyone called her a night owl. Lightning preferred to call her crazy, and Vanille was partial to the term awesome.

As Lebreau walked around the bar to make sure that she'd locked up properly, someone rapped on the door. The sound wasn't loud, but it wasn't something she could ignore. Anyone who knocked after closing time was either desperate for help or desperate for booze. Quite often, people were a combination of both.

The woman on the other side of the door was a blonde with long hair and glasses. She had the sort of refined features and green eyes that would have been stunning if her expression hadn't been so severe. Lebreau eased the door open a fraction, and the woman shoved one foot into the gap to jam the door open. The look she gave Lebreau was a combination of a snarl, a scowl, and a sneer.

"We're closed." Lebreau glanced down at the woman's feet. Really, heels? That wasn't the right footwear for jamming doors open. Boots were much better at that.

"I need a drink." The words were spoken in the firm, clipped tones of someone utterly used to obedience. The snarl/scowl/sneer deepened. "Now."

Lebreau raised one eyebrow and put more pressure on the door. The other woman didn't even blink even though it must have hurt. "I told you, we're closed."

The blonde used one hand to adjust her dark green coat and her other to try and push the door open. "And I told you that I need a drink. All of the other bars are closed, and you were the only one to answer when I knocked."

"Like I said, we're closed." Lebreau had only just finished tidying up. If this woman wanted to get drunk so badly, she could wait a few hours until the liquor store at the end of the road opened.

"Please." The word came out as barely more than a whisper. The woman's jaw clenched. "Please."

Lebreau sighed. This woman was going to be nothing but trouble, but she'd never been able to turn away someone in need. And whatever else this woman might have been, she was definitely in need. No one in a coat that expensive jammed their foot in the door of a bar unless they had something big on their mind. And if there was trouble, Lebreau could handle it. She kept a rifle under the bar, and all she had to do was shout for Gadot if she needed reinforcements.

"Fine, but you're paying triple for anything you buy." Lebreau opened the door and stepped aside. "Now get in here before somebody else comes."

The woman strode past her without a word. Lebreau watched her walk over to the bar. She had a good walk: assertive, confident, and graceful. It reminded Lebreau of Lightning. But Lightning had never looked at the bar with the kind of vague distaste that the blonde woman didn't even bother to try and disguise.

"So, what do you want to drink?"

"Scotch." The woman sat on a stool at the bar. Her voice had lost some of that quiet desperation. It was still now, and smooth, but with a hard edge to it that sent a shiver down Lebreau's spine. "Don't bother with a glass. I'll drink it straight from the bottle."

"It's a bit early for Scotch." Lebreau took up her usual spot behind the bar. She handed the woman a bottle of Scotch – and a glass. The last thing she needed was for the blonde to pass out on the bar.

"It is never too early for good Scotch." The woman eyed the bottle. "This is good Scotch, isn't it? It had better be since I'm paying triple." She read the label and gave a small nod before she opened it and reached for her glass. "It's not exactly what I was hoping for, but it will do for now."

As the woman poured herself a glass of Scotch, Lebreau couldn't help but study her more closely. Most of the women who turned up at the bar after closing time were in their early twenties – young women who'd had too much to drink but still wanted more. This woman was Lebreau's age, and everything about her – from her looks to her speech and posture – screamed upper class.

The blonde's glasses had slipped off her face, but that didn't stop her from studying the label on the bottle of Scotch. And it wasn't like she hadn't noticed. Even as she lifted the glass to her lips, the woman kept a close watch on everything around her. Her eyes glanced from one end of the bar to the other in small, furtive movements.

If Lebreau had to make a bet, she'd guess that the blonde was military and that the glasses were part of an old disguise. There was something very familiar about that, but she pushed the thought aside as the woman downed the entire glass of Scotch in one go.

"Impressive." Lebreau gave a low whistle as the blonde poured herself another glass of Scotch. "What's the occasion?"

"The occasion?" The woman drew the words out as though she was savouring fine wine – or fine Scotch – and then sneered. "What on earth makes you think I'm drinking because of some occasion?"

Someone else might have been insulted. Lebreau wasn't someone else – she was a bartender with years of experience. "You've got upper class written all over you. So what am I supposed to think when you walk into my bar and start downing Scotch like it's water?" The woman's hand tightened around the glass until Lebreau was sure it would break. "Look, I've been doing this for a long time. I've learned how to read people. I'll give you that bottle of Scotch for free if I'm wrong."

The woman knocked back her second glass of Scotch in the same manner as her first. Lebreau's brows furrowed. The more she looked at the blonde, the more certain she was that she'd seen her somewhere before.

"As it so happens, you're right. There is an occasion." The blonde all but spat the last word. And somehow, she still managed to look elegant. "Am I correct in assuming that you want to know all about it, perhaps so that you can provide me with some wonderful-sounding, but ultimately useless, piece of advice?"

"I'm a bartender, not a psychologist. But you do sound like you need to talk to somebody about what's bothering you." Lebreau poured herself a glass of mineral water. She was the very opposite of a lightweight, but she preferred not to drink before going to bed. Bartending was hard enough without a hangover. "So if you want to talk, then I'm willing to listen."

"What makes you think I want to talk, bartender?" Lebreau would have flinched from the blonde's bitter, icy tone if she hadn't already spent years around Lightning. The Scotch had also begun to take effect. The glare that the woman levelled at her was far from impressive. "Perhaps I simply want to drink all of my troubles away."

"Maybe you do, but you could have just taken the Scotch and left. You chose to stay, and that tells me you want to talk." The woman growled, but Lebreau simply smiled back. The sound had been more amusing than terrifying. "And I do have a name. It's Lebreau."

"Lebreau?" The woman rolled her eyes. "What kind of a name is that?"

"It's my name. And if you're worried about me judging you, you shouldn't be. I doubt there's anything you could tell me that I haven't heard a hundred times before." Those green eyes did their best to burn holes in Lebreau. "Besides, it's part of the bartender's oath: never judge a paying customer."

The blonde poured another glass of Scotch and stared at it with the intensity a solider might devote to their weapon. Finally, she looked up. And when she spoke, her voice was so calm they might have been talking about the price of bourbon. But her eyes, her eyes were so angry. "I used to believe in things, Lebreau. I used to have dreams – ambitions, really. But then I found out that everything I'd ever believed in was a lie. If that wasn't bad enough, the very person I'd fought so hard to protect decided that it would be a good idea to try and kill me. So, tell me, Lebreau. Have you heard that before?"

"Not all of it, no." Lebreau knew better than to lie. She had a feeling that this woman would see right through her. "But I know what it's like to find out that your whole world was built on a lie. I am from Cocoon, you know. But the almost getting killed by someone you're protecting – that's a new one. At least you survived. That's got to be worth something, right?"

"I don't think it's worth a damn thing." The woman lifted her glass to her lips only to slam it down on the counter. Scotch went everywhere. "Do you have any idea how hard I tried to forget what happened? I'd close my eyes and imagine that the whole thing was just a dream, that everything still made sense, that I hadn't wasted my entire life. But I can't forget, and you can bet that no one else has either. They say everybody got a second chance when Cocoon fell, but not me. No, not me."

The blonde pulled up the sleeve of her coat to reveal a shiny metal bracelet on her left wrist. "Do you see this? If I set so much as a foot outside of New Bodhum, this thing will make me wish I hadn't. If I make even the slightest attempt to tamper with it, I'll be sorry. I know – I've tried." She lifted her glass and drank what little Scotch hadn't spilled out. "It's amazing how much electricity a person can take if they try, but there comes a point when no amount of effort will keep you conscious." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "They've been very careful when it comes to making sure that I don't cause any trouble. This thing around my wrist even tells them where I am. Lovely, isn't it?"

"And who are they? I mean the ones who put that thing on you."

"The Guardian Corps." The blonde poured herself some more Scotch. Then she plucked the rag off the top of the bar and wiped up the Scotch she'd spilled earlier. She met Lebreau's gaze and shrugged. "I hate leaving a mess."

"You must be quite a criminal if the Guardian Corps slapped something like that bracelet on you." Lebreau's hand drifted down toward the rifle she kept under the bar in case of an emergency. "How dangerous are you?"

"I am very dangerous." The blonde's eyes narrowed, and Lebreau had to fight the urge to back off. It was impressive how much menace the woman could project without standing up. "But not to you. I'm known for something a little bigger than accosting random bartenders. Besides, I just found out whom I will be answering to from now on if I misbehave. My new… parole officer would be delighted to throw me back in prison."

"Well, that's a relief." Lebreau leaned over the counter and tried to take the Scotch. The other woman had already had more than enough. But the blonde's grip was solid iron, and the Scotch didn't budge an inch. "So, tell me about your parole officer? What sort of person are they?"

"She happens to be one of the most annoyingly tenacious people I've ever met." The woman made a disgusted sound and took another sip of her Scotch. Her hand shook, and some of it spilled over the side of her glass. "She has this horrible tendency to not die. Why, I hear she's even managed to reproduce. I can scarcely imagine what sort of spawn she's birthed with that bloody Yun of hers."

Now that got Lebreau's attention. There were exactly three people in the world with Yun blood. One was the cutest little girl that Lebreau had ever met, another was a pink-haired girl with a glare cold enough to freeze water, and the third – and only one old enough to actually have children – was Oerba Yun Fang. Oh wait. It was Oerba Yun-Farron Fang now.

"Your parole officer is Lightning Yun-Farron?" The blonde's behaviour made much more sense now. Dealing with Lightning was enough to drive most people to drink, and the pink-haired woman would have absolutely no qualms about asserting her authority.

"Is that what she calls herself now?" The woman gave an inelegant snort. "How wonderful. You know, I'm actually looking forward to meeting her again. I'm sure it will be wonderfully pleasant. We might even take turns stabbing each other." She reached for the bottle of Scotch. "Of course, I'd get to stab her first."

It was the way the blonde bit out each word that finally did it. Snow and the others had told Lebreau about their journey together, and there was only one blonde woman who had reason to feel this way about Lightning and Fang, only one blonde woman who Lightning would want to gut so much. How had she missed it for so long?

"You're Jihl Nabaat!"

The blonde somehow managed to sketch a mocking bow without standing up. "It is so nice to finally be appreciated." She glared at Lebreau. "So, are you going to throw me out now?"

"Throw you out?" Lebreau shook her head. "No, I'm not going to throw you out now." No wonder Jihl had come to her bar after closing time – she'd probably been thrown out of all the others. Jihl's name was garbage in New Bodhum – a town that had come to love the former l'Cie. Regardless of her intentions, Jihl was one of the bad guys now – a consequence of the victors writing history. "I have a feeling that's happened to you enough already. And remember what I said earlier: I'm not going to judge you."

"Really?" Jihl leaned away from the bar, her eyes a little softer but still painfully suspicious. How long had it been since someone treated Jihl with kindness? Jihl tilted her head to one side. "I remember you now, Lebreau. You're a member of NORA. I find it hard to believe that you – of all people – would give a damn about how I'm treated."

"I've met members of PSICOM before. Most of them have turned out to be decent people. They were angry at first, but they found their place in the world. I even employ a few of them when things get busy around here."

"You have PSICOM officers working at your bar?" Jihl gave a mocking laugh. "That must be so amusing – to see a PSICOM officer brought so low." She snarled. "Do you have any idea what it's like? My whole life has been a waste. How am I supposed to start again?"

Lebreau bit back a retort. She'd been around enough drunks to tell the difference between true anger and maudlin self-pity. So she changed the subject. "It's been years since Cocoon fell, so where have you been all this time?"

"If I told you, the Guardian Corps would have to kill you. But I will say this: there are always uses for people with my skills, interesting uses. It was Amodar who freed me, that naïve fool. But what do I know? Things have changed. I'm nobody now – worse than nobody. A regular PSICOM officer might be able to hold down a regular job and settle down, but that isn't an option for me. I was a lieutenant colonel. I belong in the military, but the Guardian Corps will never let that happen. They won't even let me own a gun."

There wasn't much Lebreau could say to that. Instead, she could only watch as Jihl drank herself into a stupor. It seemed cruel to release Jihl without giving her a chance to use the skills she'd worked so hard to develop. And although she was undoubtedly still dangerous, Jihl seemed more broken than dangerous now.

"What else is there for me?" The alcohol had begun to take its toll. Jihl leaned over the bar, her head supported on her arms. "I never used to be a big drinker, you know. But lately, I've found that it helps. It reminds of the way things used to be, the way things were when everything made sense – when PSICOM's name meant something, something good."

"Jihl…" Lebreau reached for the bottle of Scotch. It was empty.

"Save me your pity." Jihl tried to stand only to slump back over the bar. "I don't need it."

Jihl's arms gave way, and her head thumped against the top of the bar. Lebreau winced. If Lightning really was Jihl's parole office, then she should probably call her. Then again, there was no telling what kind of trouble Jihl would be in if Lightning found her passed out in a bar. And despite everything she'd done, more trouble was the last thing that Jihl needed.

"I am so going to regret this." Lebreau went around the bar and lifted Jihl up onto her shoulder. She had a spare room upstairs. Normally, it was for one of her boys when they'd had a little too much to drink, but she let Jihl use it – just for today, of course. "You better thank me for this later, Jihl."

X X X

**Author's Notes**

As always, I neither own Final Fantasy, nor am I making any money off of this.

In Chapter 18 of _The Cookie Jar_, Lebreau and Jihl moved in next to Lightning and Fang. In that chapter, I wasn't interested in how they got together so much as I was interested in how they interacted with their new neighbours (Fang, Lightning, and the kids). This story, however, is going to be all about how they got together.

Lebreau and Jihl isn't exactly the most conventional pairing, but it is one that I've thought about from time to time. What eventually got me to write something involving it were a few comments made by flightshep, which got me thinking about it again. In any case, it should be an interesting ride. Lebreau has settled into her new life on Gran Pulse, but Jihl is still picking up the pieces. It's not the ideal scenario for romance, especially given the sort of person Jihl is, but I think Lebreau can make it work. She's a tough one, all right. I'm also in the market for a name for this ship. I've thought about calling it Jebreau or Drunk Colonel. If you have any suggestions, let me know.

I also write original fiction. My newest original story, _Durendal_, is now available on Amazon! It runs to ~80,000 words, making it the first novel-length original story that I've made available to the public! It's a coming-of-age story and a Western with elements of science fiction. If you've enjoyed my other stories, I know you'll love this one. You can find links to it in my profile.

If you're not into Westerns, you don't have to worry (although you can always have a look at _The Gunslinger and the Necromancer_ if you're after a paranormal Western with a good sense of humour). Most of my other original stuff is fantasy. If you like fantasy with plenty of atmosphere and action, check out _The Last Huntress_, I'm sure you'll love it. If you're in the mood for fantasy with a more 'old-fashioned' feel, then take a look at _The Burning Mountains_.

As always, I appreciate feedback. Reviews and comments are welcome.


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